A Tiger in the Family

Both my parents were pilots, and growing up around aeroplanes and flight has its own vocabulary. My sister and I knew about rudders and ‘flaps’ that control roll and pitch. We knew what a ‘joy stick’ did, and why an altimeter was necessary. We learned the names of clouds; cirrus, stratus, cumulus, nimbus, and what they implied for the weather. We became familiar with the names of aerobatic manoeuvres; barrel rolls, dives, stalls, falling leaves, and loop-the-loop. The phonetic alphabet remains in memory, particularly Alpha, November, Quebec.  

I search the internet for ‘Tiger Moth’, the open-cockpit bi-planes my parents flew when I was a child, then short-list the search to ZK-ANQ, the identifier of my father’s plane. There are clips of her in aerobatic flight: stalled in a yawing dive, propeller still until the engine catches and she powers into a triumphant rising arc with a roaring burst of throttle before eventually losing altitude and crabbing sideways toward earth for the typical short Tiger landing.    
 
Mum Dad:  irca 1962, about to leave for a flight from Tauranga to invercargill. Left to Right: Gordon Spence, Val Scrivener, Ron Scrivener with ZK-ANQ. (This is a newspaper photo which I believe is from the Bay of Plenty Times). 

Memories rush in. Suddenly I’m flying again, my sister and I strapped together into the worn leather seat of the front cockpit. I smell oil and high octane. Wind whistles above the thunder of the 130 horsepower engine. Behind cracked glass dials, rapidly shifting needles tell our speed and height. The joystick moves constantly under the invisible direction of our father in the rear cockpit. We head for the sun, faintly blurred before the spinning two-meter mahogany propeller. Over the edge of the vibrating
cockpit, earth recedes and the sea stretches to a distant horizon.  
 

That first flight remains a visceral memory of rolling, spiralling, spinning earth and sky. Our father could never resist the exhilaration of putting the Tiger through her aerobatic paces, and he didn’t hold back that day. My mother waiting on the tarmac, pale and grim-knuckled, thought he went too far.  

My sister and I often flew after that, one child with my mother, usually piloting ZK-BEF, and the other in ZK-ANQ with my father. We ‘raided’ small airfields, called in on farmers with enough flat area to take a tight landing, and visited deserted beaches where landing was probably illegal.  
 
Photo: Private Pilot
Circa 1960. Val Scrivener achieves her private pilot's licence. (Private Collection, not previously published.)  

Many of the flying community were regular visitors to our house at Ocean Beach Road in Mount Maunganui. ften these visits were in the form of ‘buzzing’ the house – flying in from the sea and over the house at just above roof top level. The first we would know of it was the roar of an engine at close quarters and my sister and I would run outside to identify the plane. One of the regulars who buzzed our house was Bill Paterson in his Fox Moth as he flew in from his farm on Mōtītī Island.

In 1962, when I was about 11, my parents, Ron and Val Scrivener, and their
friend, Gordon Spence, made an epic flight in three Tiger Moths to Invercargill. They were away for several weeks, landing in small and far away places, sleeping under the wings of their planes, and leaving at dawn to move on to the next landing place. Tigers, made of wood and fabric, are very light and, if outdoors, are tied down at night to prevent wind throwing them around. I could imagine their morning start; the swinging of the
propellers until the engine caught, the call for “chocks away”, and the plane taxiing to takeoff for another two hours in the air. We followed their journey via the newspapers. 

We heard many tales of daring flying exploits perpetuated by my father who had a reputation for low flying and landing, not always successfully, in unusual places. However, on that long adventure, my mother apparently did the most daring takeoff. Even dad was impressed. There was a strong wind at ground level, making take-off difficult. Apparently, two men ran beside the plane holding the wings stable until mum became airborne. Take off speed into wind was 40 mph, and I’m unsure how far the runners managed to stay with her. However, even take off in a Tiger is a high skill accomplishment requiring a firm hand at the controls. Tigers are very basic planes without brakes or steering. The pilots put their head outside the plane to see, and steer using revs and rudder, resulting in an ungainly waddle. 

Not long after their return from the South Island flight, mum became Captain of the Tauranga Aeroclub – the first woman in New Zealand elected as an Aeroclub Captain. We were all very proud of her. My parents continued flying for a few years, although ZK-ANQ found another home. I understand the old plane is Wellington based, and still flying. But, for a memorable few years, we had a Tiger in the family.
 
(Part of this story was previously published in the Bay of Plenty Times, 12/01/08 in the
Write Place column, under the title: “Memories spin high and wild across sky”.) 
 Preparing for flight:
Circa 1962. Left to Right: Ron Scrivener, Val Scrivener and Gordon Spence about to leave for their flight from Tauranga to Invercargill. (I believe this photo was taken by a friend and has not been previously published. However, it may also be a BOP Times photo).